WInter
by john-wtfson
Summary: John's cold, and Sherlock is generous. Perhaps Christmas Eve won't be so bad after all.


**I don't own Sherlock.**

**Warning for M/M relationship.**

_It was very cold_, John thought miserably._ It was very cold indeed_.

Somehow, Sherlock had managed to drag John out of the flat to go investigate a case, despite the cold weather. Sherlock, wrapped up in his scarf and coat, wasn't fazed by the freezing weather. John, however, was shivering beneath one of his many woollen jumpers.

"So, any ideas?" Sherlock asked briskly, standing by John's side.

"She died of frostbite?" John suggested, voice sarcastic.

"There are no signs of frostbite on the bo-"

"I was being sarcastic, Sherlock. It's freezing."

Sherlock didn't speak, and instead swept away, continuing to glance over the body as it sat in the snow pile. "Lestrade!"

The tired man, bundled in a scarf, gloves, and at least three jumpers, walked over to where Sherlock stood. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Find out what her boyfriend's occupation is."

John gave the detective inspector a weak smile as he brushed past. "Not exactly what I had in mind for Christmas Eve."

"Tell me about it. I was meant to be visiting my kids tomorrow, but with this case in progress, I can't!"

They exchanged sympathetic smiles before Greg walked off to make a phone call concerning the victim's boyfriend and his occupation.

"John!"

He flung his head around to find Sherlock crouching down, arm out as if waiting for John to pass him something. With a long sigh, he walked over and crouched down beside him. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Your hand, please."

His face scrunched up in confusion. "My wha-"

"Your hand. I need to give you something."

Still confused, John placed his outstretched hand on Sherlock's palm. Sherlock took his palm out from underneath and went to his neck, un-looping his scarf and placing it in John's hand. He then stripped off his coat and folded it over John's forearm. John stared at the man as if he were insane.

"Sherlock, you'll freeze!"

He shrugged. "So will you."

Shocked at the display of kindness, John hesitated for a second. Slowly, he took the coat and put it on, grateful for the warmth it provided. He then took the navy blue scarf and looped it around his neck, inhaling it's scent - his scent. The coat and the scarf smelled undeniably of Sherlock - the smell of his coffee, right up to the cheap shampoo he used. It was comforting, and immediately, Sherlock could see the difference in the man.

"You sure?" John asked.

"Positive. I just want a favour in return."

"What is it?"

Sherlock half-smiled. "Hold my hands - they're freezing, and they could use some warming up"

John raised his eyebrow at the request, but he covered Sherlock's long, elegant fingers with his own, imprisoning them. Sherlock continued to observe the body, neither commenting on the comfort the other had brought them.

Greg returned, phone in hand. "Her boyfriend was a lawyer. One of those real fancy ones"

"He would have to wear black shoes, yes?"

Greg nodded. "He's over with the police - I can bring him here, if you like."

"Please."

"What does it matter?" John whispered.

Sherlock pulled his hand away gently, wincing as the cold air hit his fingers. He pointed at the girl's dress. "See the scuff? Shoe polish. If it matches the polish on the boyfriend's shoes, he's the murderer."

"Brilliant."

Sherlock stared at John, eyes wide. John had told him his deductions were incredible many times, but there was something different about this time - something to do with his hands encased in John's, the tone of his voice, the way the air appeared in front of him when John spoke into the cold. It melted his insides slightly, like he had just had a big gulp of hot, well-made coffee. It was... pleasant. More then pleasant.

Greg returned, and they were forced to look away from each other. Sherlock crouched down immediately, inspecting the shoes the man was wearing. He ran his forefinger over the toe, inspecting the black wax that had transferred to his finger.

He stood back up. "He's the one."

The man began to scream in outrage, but Greg took him back to the police cars, handcuffing him and forcing him into the car. Sherlock and John watched from afar.

"Don't know why he's screaming," John smiled. "I bet it's warm in the car."

They both looked at each other, before laughing. "Thanks for the coat and scarf," John smiled.

"You're welcome. John. You look rather cute in them."

They walked back to Bakers Street, and they didn't stop holding hands, not even when they entered the warm flat.

John smiled to himself as the sat down on the couch, fingers brushing. _Not a bad Christmas Eve after all._


End file.
